Playing House
by Checkerboards
Summary: The sequel to 'Homesick'. Thanksgiving is a time for family togetherness. But how do you tell your family that your new job is henching for the Riddler?
1. Have Nest, Will Travel

Home is where you hang your hat. The Riddler had enough homes to host a haberdashery.

It was simple common sense, really. If you live in a city with the World's Greatest Detective, and if you know he makes a habit of finding you at home, it's only natural to have as many homes as possible. If you can get Batman to waste an hour or so lair-hopping in search of you, that's another hour of your life that your teeth get to remain intact. And, as a bonus, if you've rigged up some kind of early-warning system, you can know that the Bat is about _before_ you hear that silken swishing noise of a cape indicating that your world is about to become centered around a red-hot nova of pain.

So Eddie made it a habit to acquire a new lair every so often. If nothing else, it was a comfort to know that he had a bolthole located within easy sprinting distance of wherever he happened to be. Provided, of course, that no one had moved in and made themselves at home. (Then again, the _last_ time that had happened things had turned out rather nicely...)

Batman and his associates were still looking for them. The girls were still out there, somewhere. That meant that there were approximately seven people eager to play pinata with him, not counting the GCPD and all the little people he'd stepped on through the years. And of the seven major threats, _all of them_ knew where he lived.

Yes, it was _definitely_ time for a new lair. He had his eye on a small apartment a few blocks over. Normally, he wouldn't go for an apartment, everyone knew that, which is why renting one was such a brilliant move on his part. No one would expect him in an easily-accessible, large-windowed apartment! He had the most wonderful ideas in the world! He was a genius! He...needed more ice for the lump on his head, which he had acquired in that unfortunate encounter with the rocky hillside leading away from Arkham.

No, ice could wait. He was busy. There was a lair to plan, and things to buy, and traps to leave in all his _other_ lairs in case of unwanted visitors...

* * *

Jackie toyed with her phone, listening to the squeals of metal and the occasional anagrammed epithet coming from Eddie's room. Heaven only knew what he was doing in there. He'd been behaving a little oddly since he got back - and since this was _Eddie_ she was talking about, it was a whole new level of odd.

Still, he'd been lucid enough to provide her with a new cell phone. When she'd mentioned over lunch that she had left hers in the hotel, he'd held up a finger - Wait a minute! - and disappeared into the storage room. She'd followed him just in time to see him extract a cell phone from a crate crammed full of them. Why did he have a crate of cell phones? Like most other 'why' questions relating to the rogues, the answer was probably 'why not?'

He had popped the back of it off and mucked about with the insides, flicking wires here and there with practiced ease and slipping in a neon-green chip in the shape of a question mark before clipping it together and presenting it to her with a little flourish. Now the phone would be able to use the cell towers without all the hassle of actually having an account with a service provider.

She'd thanked him, and he'd bustled back to whatever he was doing in the other room, lunch forgotten in the pursuit of...of...well, as far as she could tell, of squealy metal noises. She finished off the rest of her sandwich and took the phone into the living room to program it with the handful of phone numbers that she knew off the top of her head. And if she had to dial in the numbers anyway, she may as well make certain that they worked...

"Yeah, hi!" she said happily into the phone. "I just called to...no, I didn't get your message..." She glanced at the answering machine, its little red light flashing merrily. Whoops. "No, or that one either...the machine must be broken," she lied. "What did you want to ask?...um...no, no, that would be fine. Great! Um, when?...but I thought you...no, no, I didn't mean...look, it'll be fun. Yes. Yes, I'm sure. Okay, I'll let you get back to your lunch." She clapped the phone closed and swallowed hard, staring at the little plastic oblong laying innocently in her hand. It was such a small thing...why did it have the power to turn her backbone into pudding?

"Eddie?" she called somewhat hysterically. "Eddie..."

"I'm in here..._ouch_!" he yelped as something large and metal clanged hard off of the wall.

Jackie traced the yelping down the hall to the master bedroom, where Eddie was entangled in a nest of wires and metal. "We've got problems," she announced.

"You're telling me," he muttered, trying to ease his way out of the tangle. A wire sprung loose and snapped across his hand.

"No, really, we...what are you doing?" she asked, finally noticing the Eddie-puzzle in the corner.

"Deathtrap," he sighed.

"For anyone in particular?"

"You can never have too many deathtraps." He yelped again as a shower of sparks illuminated him in a very personal area. "There's a button around the back..."

Jackie sighed and tucked the phone into her pocket. "This one?" she asked, pressing the green button. Sparks flew from somewhere else deep inside the assemblage.

"No, the red one!"

Jackie hit the red button. Nothing much happened.

"Well?"

"It didn't do anything!"

"Are you sure you hit the right one?"

"There's two buttons here, and one of them tries to make you into Riddler flambé every time I press it. The red one doesn't do anything!"

"Great." Eddie thrashed uselessly in the cold metal grip of the trap.

"Hang on, let me just..." Jackie yanked on the top of the trap, tipping it down horizontally to the floor. Sparks hissed out of it and she dropped it the last few inches with a yelp. The trap disintegrated noisily as the Riddler eased himself out of it.

"Thanks," he said, playfully bitter.

"Y'know, you're supposed to be on the _outside_ of those," Jackie said as Eddie examined the tiny holes that the sparks had burnt in his clothes.

"I couldn't reach some of the wiring," he replied absently. "So what's this about problems?"

Reality smacked Jackie across the back of the head. "My parents are coming to Gotham for Thanksgiving," she announced in tones of dread and gloom.

"And?"

"_And_?" she repeated, gazing in disbelief at him.

He shrugged. "What's the problem?"

"What's the _problem_?" she glared, waving her arms around to indicate the vivid green question-marked room and her own green question-marked dress.

"I should have named you Echo," he said, half-amused.

"I'm not a dolphin! Look, Eddie, they're going to be here next week and they can't know about this! What am I going to do?"

He knelt by the ruin of his trap. "You don't have to see them if you don't want to," he remarked, burrowing headfirst into the pile of metal. "I haven't seen mine in...hmm...almost ten years."

"Why not?"

"If you'd ever met my parents, you'd understand," he muttered, twisting two lengths of wire together with one hand.

"Well, you're about to meet mine," she said grimly.

The back of Eddie's skull slammed hard into a solid metal bar. "Me?" he protested, squiggling back out of the wreckage. "Why?"

"Because I told them I had a...that you were..." she fidgeted uncomfortably. "Y'know, that...you..." She waved her hands helplessly in the air, trying to describe a relationship that hadn't happened.

"Hmm?"

"Boyfriend!" she finally spat, flinging her arms to the skies. "I said that I had a boyfriend that was letting me stay with him after my house burned down, all right? And now they want to meet him! You!"

"But I'm not...I..." he stammered, somewhat flummoxed.

"I know, I know! You just have to pretend! Please?" she asked desperately. "They'll only be here for a week!"

Eddie, who had been about to agree, closed his mouth and regarded her suspiciously. "Here as in _Gotham_, or here as in _here_?"

"Here as in they want to stay here, yeah," she admitted.

"If you're trying to keep the rogue thing secret from your parents, having them stay here might be a _little_ bit of a giveaway," he pointed out.

"We could redecorate?"

"This is my best lair!" he protested, folding his arms. "No."

"What about a new lair?"

"I have _plans_ for that lair..."

"Can't they wait?" Jackie pleaded. "Just for a little bit? Please, Eddie?"

He considered it for a moment. "Fine. We'll fix it up after your parents leave town. Make it look however you want in the meantime." He pulled the wreckage apart once more, preparing to climb back inside. He glanced at her over his shoulder. "But no unicorns."

* * *

Parents are difficult.

In childhood, they're a little easier. The roles are very clearly defined: the parents control all the power, with maybe a little bit of power leaching off to assorted older siblings. It's kind of like being in the military, if the military advocated hugs.

But by adulthood, things have changed. It's hard to describe exactly how, given that every family settles into this new way of things in their own unique way. Another difficulty is that there's no set date that a child turns into an adult. The law says that adulthood is conferred at age 18 (or 21, depending on how you're choosing your definitions) but that doesn't always translate fully into individual lives. There are eighteen-year-olds with their own apartments and thirty-somethings living in Mom's basement.

Jackie had moved straight from her parents' house to Gotham. Oh, certainly she'd lived in the dorms during college - it was somewhat of a comfort to know that she could stay up until three AM doing homework without fear of her parents knocking on her bedroom door - but during her summers at home, they had tried to treat her like a young adult rather than their little girl. She'd appreciated it at the time.

But now, she knew they were going to be treating her like a _real_ adult - and that meant that her mother would be running a constant survey of Jackie's life quietly, in the back of her head, for detailed discussion later on when Jackie wasn't around. She had seen it happen before with other people under the spotlight - her mother analyzed and discussed things that Jackie didn't even notice: dust on the picture frames, pulled threads in the carpet...everything was a reflection of who you were and how well you were doing. If things were amiss, there _must_ be something wrong, because no one living a _good_ life would allow papers and debris to pile up on their desk. It didn't matter that her mother's own desk was stacked high with work. That was _different_, apparently, for some reason that Jackie had never been able to logically figure out.

The worst thing was that she wouldn't say these things directly to the people she discussed. Jackie knew that her mother hadn't approved of some of her things at home, but she'd never said it, so she couldn't pin down what it was that made that sad little frown blink onto her mother's face when she stepped into her room. So, insecure and agitated, Jackie spent the next week rushing about, trying to find things to fill a new apartment that would meet her mother's approval. Her mother liked floral-print things, but Jackie didn't. Would her mother suspect that something was up if she bought this hideously flowery sofa, or would she approve of Jackie finally getting some taste?

Her mother would be judging her new life based almost solely on the contents of her apartment. She gave in and bought the sofa.

* * *

"And what's your name?" Jackie hissed in an undertone as they watched suitcases travel round the carousel.

"Eddie Nashton." Eddie leaned casually against the wall, wearing jeans and a T-shirt under a red ski jacket. The new clothes certainly weren't as comfortable as his nice, soft green suits, but they'd been firmly packed away for the next week or so.

"And where do you work?"

"**Timberland Aid**."

"And what did you do there?"

"**I bled tamarind**."

She elbowed him gently in the gut. "Knock it off with the anagrams."

He was briefly tempted to speak in nothing _but_ anagrams for the rest of this interminable week. With the amount of panic that Jackie had shown earlier, though, intentionally provoking her would probably be the quickest way to make close, personal friends with another fire extinguisher...and anyway, the last thing he needed at the moment was_ another_ henchgirl turning crazy on him.

A crowd of people shoved their way into the crowded room. Jackie went up on her toes to try and find her parents. "Mom!" she waved frantically. "Dad!" Eddie stepped clear of her flailing arms. "Over here!"

"Jackie!" Her parents descended on her and enveloped her in a monstrous hug. "It's so good to see you again!" they nattered along with all the other traditional just-reunited nonsense: how was the flight, how's the cat at home, that shirt looks new...

Finally they disengaged. "Mom, Dad," Jackie said nervously. "This is my, uh, boyfriend, Edward Nyg-Nashton."

"Good to meet you!" Jackie's dad said in tones approaching a bellow, seizing Eddie by the hand and shaking vigorously. "So tell me, who's your team?"

"Team?" Eddie said, trying to extract his hand from being shaken like a martini.

"Your team, boy! Baseball, basketball..." The man's face slowly pulled down into a cautious frown. "Hockey?" he hazarded. "Football?"

"Oh! I follow the Gotham Knights," Eddie lied, picking the only football team he'd ever known anything about.

"Local boys, huh? Good for you, supporting the underdogs!" her dad said happily.

Jackie cleared her throat. "That's my dad, Rick," she introduced, "and this is my mom, Violet."

Rick finally let Eddie's hand go. He sighed in relief, only to have it turn into a gasp of shock when Violet wrapped her arms around him and kissed him firmly on the cheek. "_Such_ a pleasure to finally meet you," she gushed.

"L-likewise," Eddie stammered, edging backward.

"Mom," Jackie said, horribly embarrassed, "let go of him."

"I was just saying hello to my future-"

"_Mom_!" Jackie shouted over the tail end of that sentence. "Where's your luggage?"

"Over there. C'mon, Ed, let's get the bags." Rick seized Eddie by the shoulder and dragged him off. "I hear the Knights went down seven-nothing last month..."

(_to be continued_)

* * *

_Author's Note: I'm sorry this was late. To say I had a crazy and exhausting week would be an understatement._


	2. Close Calls

The trip home from the airport had been one of the most nerve-wracking drives that Eddie had ever experienced, even counting that time that he'd been screaming down 5th Street with a quickly flattening tire as the Batmobile slowly started filling up his rearview mirror.

Gotham traffic was somewhat to blame for it. Tourists and easily distracted motorists missed turns and screeched around, ignoring other drivers in favor of getting on the right road. Motorcyclists ducked and weaved through the densely-packed cars, fitting neatly in the tiny gaps between vehicles and waving merrily at the outraged honks and curses filling the air in their wake. The blindingly bright setting sun painted the sky an odd orangey-pink through the fog of pollution.

Eddie wasn't used to driving in the daytime. Actually, he wasn't used to driving at all - that's what henchgirls were for - but Rick and Violet had Jackie pinned in the backseat, chattering to her about their trip, reading billboards and commenting on some of the wilder examples of Gotham street life. A man standing by a sign offering a picture with his pet for a dollar looked hopefully in their direction. "Jackie, that man has a _snake_!"

"Lots of people have weird pets here, Mom," Jackie said, thinking particularly of the pair of slobbery hyenas in Harley Quinn's possession. "Eddie, don't miss the turn! Left, left!"

The inhabitants of the car were thrown to the right as the car obediently hopped the curb to make the turn. And that was another thing - he didn't actually know where he was going. He hadn't gone to the apartment yet, since he'd had such a lot to do in the week before their arrival. The other lairs were fully rigged out with traps, and he'd had to get a new wardrobe (full of appallingly non-green clothes - he hadn't worn red in _years_ and now half his shirts were stop-sign crimson), and he'd had to make triply sure through all of this that the trio of ex-henchgirls weren't following him. Who had time to go visit a lair...an _apartment_ with all that stuff going on?

Another motorcyclist swished past him. "**Sea shoulder**!" Eddie muttered.

"What?" Violet asked.

Oh, right, most people didn't anagram their insults. "Nothing." An enormous semi dragging two trailers flashed his blinker on and started to change lanes, not noticing Eddie's little sedan to his immediate left.

"So, Edward, what do you do for a living?"

There was a car to his left. They were going to be a metal sandwich in a minute. He slammed on the brakes, sending them bouncing in their seats as the semi breezily cut him off. Horns sounded like the honking of migrating geese.

"Edward?"

"Computers," he said, unthinkingly using the default lie that he used whenever anyone asked him what he did.

"Oh, like Jackie!"

"Yeah, mom, like me," Jackie sighed. So much for Timberland Aid or wherever Eddie had actually been planning to pretend to work at. "We met through work."

"That's wonderful!" Violet enthused.

"Are you going to be able to turn right up there, Eddie?" Jackie asked from the back. "Your turn's right up there by the Starbucks..."

"I can make it," he promised in a growl. He would make it or die trying. The sooner he got them there, the sooner he could get out of this godforsaken car and never drive anywhere ever again. The small white car zipped around a pickup truck and bounced into the correct lane.

Contrary to popular opinion, the Riddler's car was neither green nor question-marked, not even on the inside. If you acquired your vehicles by stealing them, as Eddie tended to do, it was not worth repainting and customizing them if you were only going to steal another one a few months later. Besides, if the cops were on your tail, it was much easier to elude them in a plain, ordinary car. People often wondered why he'd bother hiding on his way away from heists. He'd gone to all the trouble of calling Batman to all of them, after all, and surely he wanted to be noticed.

No. He wanted to get in, get whatever he wanted, and get out _without_ being caught. Being pulled over on the way home by Officer Nobody because he was driving the Riddlermobile would be embarrassingly pointless.

They finally parked in a deck conveniently located under the building. After that horrific drive, it would be nice to go in and rest. Eddie wordlessly accepted his burden of two oversized suitcases and a makeup bag around his neck and staggered up two flights of stairs. When they arrived, Jackie clicked the key in the lock and swung the door open to reveal...

Pink. Pink sheer curtains billowed softly near a pink armchair and a pinkly-flowered sofa and a coffee table with pink lace doilies. The pictures on the wall were pink, the afghans on the back of the sofa were pink, the ridiculously frilly skirts wrapped around every item of furniture were pink. He hadn't seen this much pink since the time Harley Quinn had redecorated one of _her_ hideouts...and suddenly he had a very good idea where most of this stuff had come from.

Violet and Rick exchanged looks. "This is an...interesting place you've got here, Ed," Rick volunteered uncomfortably.

"Jackie redecorated it," Eddie explained quickly. He'd be damned if he took credit for an apartment that looked like the Barbie aisle at the local toy store had thrown up in it.

Subtle relief filtered onto her parents' faces. "It looks _darling_, Jackie, just _darling_!" her mother enthused, picking up a tiny china poodle (pink) and looking into its little pink eyes.

"Here, let me get that," Jackie said, lifting the makeup bag from around his neck. "Come on, let's put this stuff in my room." They sidestepped Violet's enthusiastic cooing over the tiny ceramic poodle set atop the television and made their escape.

"Okay, listen," Jackie whispered hurriedly as they piled suitcases together. "My parents are staying in here - my room - yours is down the hall at the end, bathroom's across the hallway. You've lived here for seven years."

"Jackie?" Rick called from the other room.

"Coming, dad!" She turned back to Eddie. "I'll try to get them out of the house tomorrow for you. Okay?"

"Fine," Eddie shrugged.

Jackie impulsively threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. "Thank you," she whispered, before disengaging and hurrying back to the living room.

That was...unexpected. He wasn't used to being thanked. He straightened his T-shirt, which for some reason featured a vampire penguin, and rejoined the trio in the extraordinarily pink living room.

* * *

Item one on the list of things to do the next day was to visit Jackie's workplace. It didn't matter that she worked from home, or that she didn't have an office, or any of the various excuses she threw at them to try and keep them away from the building that she no longer had any official tie to. They wanted to see the physical location that her paychecks came from - and since Eddie worked there too, they demanded that he come along for the ride.

"I've got work to do," he protested as Violet extracted his ski jacket from the closet.

"We've hardly spent any time with you," Violet pointed out, bringing him his coat, "and you can do your work later."

"But..." he protested.

"Come on, Ed," Rick invited. "Jackie tells us you've lived in Gotham for years. You can show us the sights!"

Somehow, he didn't imagine that Rick really wanted to see the sights he was most familiar with: the interior of Arkham Asylum and Batman's fists. But how could he turn them down and keep up the charade?...he couldn't. "All right," he muttered, zipping up the hideous jacket around himself.

The morning sun almost blinded him. Rogues were night people, with the exception of Poison Ivy. He normally slept in until noon - just like every other creative genius he knew - and he was not enthused about breaking this habit. Morning people were insane, that's all there was to it.

Gotham in the daytime is very different from Gotham at night. There's a different feel in the air. While nighttime is there for partying and cutting loose, daytime is for Serious Business and tension ripples down the sidewalks as executives bustle along with briefcases and gym bags for jogging over lunch.

They were almost to the car. In a flash of brilliance, Eddie suddenly found the perfect way to go back home and burrow under the covers for a few more hours. With a startled yelp, he purposely kicked a little crack in the sidewalk and fell to the ground.

"Are you okay?" Violet and Jackie asked simultaneously.

"I think I twisted my ankle," Eddie lied, gingerly getting to his feet and keeping his weight firmly off of his 'injured' foot.

"Do you think it's sprained?"

"No, it's just twisted. I should probably go home and put some ice on it..."

"Oh, walk it off, Ed," Rick said, grabbing him by the shoulder as he started turning away. "You can put your foot up in the car."

"I can't drive like this," Eddie protested, theatrically limping as he was dragged along.

"I'll drive."

"Dad, no," Jackie protested. "Remember what happened last time-"

"He won't be out," Rick cut her off. "It's November. Too cold for that..._stuff_."

"Dad, he performed in the snow last winter." Jackie shrugged at Eddie as they arrived at the car. "Last time they were in Gotham, Dad almost ran over the Naked Cowboy."

"He shouldn't have been in the street."

"He was on the _sidewalk_!"

"Well, the brakes were bad," Rick muttered. He stuck out a meaty hand. "Keys."

Eddie fumbled in his pockets and tossed the keys to Rick.

"Shotgun!" Violet chirped, scuttling around to the passenger seat. With a shared glance of apprehension, Jackie and Eddie slowly climbed into the backseat.

The engine revved. The windshield wipers squeaked across the dry glass. And then, at a speed more appropriate for a drag strip, Rick tore out of the parking lot.

Eddie winced as the car bounced heavily out onto the road via the curb and a strip of sidewalk. Rick was a worse driver than he was. This was going to be a very long day.

* * *

"Dad, watch out for the-"

"I see him, I see him!"

"Dad, there's a truck-"

"I saw him - _bastard_!"

"DAD!"

"What?! There's no one around us anymore!"

"Dad, we're _here_."

The car shuddered to a halt in an empty parking spot across from their goal: Jackie's old workplace.

"Well, let's go in!" Violet said brightly, unclipping her seatbelt.

"There's no point, Mom, even I haven't been in there more than two or three times."

"What about you, Ed?" Rick asked, twisting in his seat to see Eddie.

Eddie looked like he'd been digging through Jonathan Crane's research films after a healthy dinner of roasted tarantula paired with a nice cold fear toxin martini. Shocked horror widened his eyes and tensed his body into a rigid L shape. Driving with her father tended to do that to the uninitiated. Still, Jackie had never seen anyone actually turn the same shade of white as typing paper before. "Same here. Don't go in," he mumbled, slowly letting his fingers unclasp from the back of Violet's seat.

"Well, at least we can get some pictures of the outside," Violet said, slipping out of the car, camera at the ready. Jackie glanced toward the offices.

Yvonne the receptionist was standing at the huge picture window, staring right at their car! Jackie tried to duck out of sight - but sitting behind her father, who tended to move the seat all the way back, there wasn't even room to bend over enough to touch her shoe. "Mom, we need to go now."

"Just a few more, honey - oh, look, Rick, _gargoyles_!"

"_Mom_," Jackie said, a little more urgently. Yvonne was calling over her shoulder and pointing at the car.

"In a _minute_, sweetie."

Her ex-boss came to the window, squinting into the bright street under a visor-like hand. When he spotted Jackie, he instantly darted a hand to his belt to begin prying his cell phone free.

"Mom!" Jackie called. "We need to go back for my cell phone, I forgot it and they might call, and if they call and I don't answer they'll know I'm not there-"

"All right, Jackie, all right," Violet said, jumping back inside. "Go on, Rick, Jackie needs her phone."

"But it's-" Eddie started to say, pointing at the little antenna poking out of her pocket. She silenced him with a swift kick to the calf and jerked her head meaningfully at the crowd gathering in the window.

"What was that, Ed?" Rick asked as he forced the car into gear.

"No-o-o-o-thing," Eddie wailed as they burst back into traffic like a rogue comet.

They'd made it three blocks when - dee DAH dee DAH dee DAH dee - the theme from Jeopardy beeped cheerfully into the air from Jackie's pocket. She writhed around, finally dislodging her phone, and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"I thought you left that at home!" her mother said reprovingly.

"One minute," she told whoever-it-was that was calling. "I thought I did, but it was just in my pocket."

"If it was a snake, it would have bit you," her father said teasingly as they rocketed around a taxi.

"Sorry. Who is this?" Jackie asked into the phone.

"Heya, Q!"

"Oh. Hi." _Dammitdammitdammit_ it was Harley Quinn.

"Listen, so me and Mistah J were thinkin' about goin' to that shindig at Harvey's - you in?"

"Haven't heard anything about it," Jackie said in a monotone. "I can't really talk now-"

"Oh, you're invited," Harley hastened to assure her. "Harv's girls are really into the holidays, y'know, and they're making enough turkeys to feed alla Gotham-"

"That's great, listen, I can't talk right now, okay?"

"Why?" Harley asked. "Havin' trouble with Eddie?"

Jackie glanced over at him. He was braced for impact in the seat next to her, mumbling something that sounded like an urgent prayer for survival. "He's fine. I'll call you later, okay?"

"'Kay. Byeeeee!" Jackie turned the phone off and buried it in her purse.

"Who was that, dear?"

"Just a friend."

"And does this friend have a name?"

She sighed. Hooray, more inquisition time. "Her name's Harley."

"Is she doing anything tonight? We could take her out to dinner," her mother invited.

"I think she's busy with...her boyfriend tonight."

"Well, he can come too!"

The pace of Eddie's prayers increased at a noticeable rate. Whether it was from the idea of inviting the Joker to dinner or the forty-mile-an-hour right turn the wrong way onto a one-way street, she couldn't tell. "No!" Jackie yelped. "I mean, no, Mom, her boyfriend's kind of a jerk." Understatement of the millennium, there.

Violet turned in her seat and looked disapprovingly at her. "You really should be nice to this girl, Jackie, particularly if her young man isn't treating her well. If he can't behave himself, we'll just ask him to leave." The car pulled to a halt at a red light as a crowd of small children inched their way across the crosswalk. Eddie took a moment to breathe, trying not to imagine what would happen if _anyone_ told the Joker to hit the road.

"Mom, just trust me on this one. It's better not to invite them along."

"If he's so terrible of a person, why is she dating him?"

"Now there's a riddle no one's been able to answer," Eddie muttered, massaging a cramp out of his left palm. Jackie fixed on him a look that would have fried an egg. He looked up, shrugged an apology, and hastily snatched the seatback again as Rick prepared to drive onward.

"So what else are we doing today?" Violet asked brightly.

Rick chuckled. "Well, we could go see the prehistoric cows."

"They have prehistoric cows in Gotham?" Violet asked, confused about Rick's sudden interest in ancient bovinity.

"Of course they do!...in the _moo-seum_." Violet and Jackie obediently groaned at the terrible joke. Eddie was busy watching the car in front of them get alarmingly close to their bumper. "Not much for puns, are you, Ed?" Rick asked as they swished around the car.

"N-no." Which was true enough. He was never too fond of any pun spewed by a madman who didn't realize that they'd almost died twelve times that morning.

There were times when a man had to ask himself: was this really worth it? Was it really worth the entire charade of being together, the weird clothes, the utter _pinkness_ of his living room and the lies upon lies? Was it really worth putting up with this nonsense for another day?

On the other hand, if he kicked the three of them out, the truth was bound to be revealed...and Rick was a very large man indeed, and Violet had mentioned her girlhood proficiency with a baseball bat...He smiled wanly. "Which museum did you have in mind?"

If nothing else, it would get him out of this rolling deathtrap. And surely nothing would happen at the nice, boring museum...

* * *

_Author's Note: The Naked Cowboy is everywhere! The Naked Cowboy is in your_ mind_. Also, he has a website. He's fun. (And he's not _really_ naked, but the Underpants Cowboy doesn't quite have the same ring to it.) _


	3. Exhibit A

The Gotham History Museum was an excellent example of the stereotypical museum that lurked in the back of everyone's mind. Bony dinosaurs frozen in threatening positions menaced the patrons in the lobby. Banners, flapping in the breeze from the heating vents, advertised the upcoming exhibition of ancient and antique games (which Eddie mentally noted as an excellent potential target) and sent dust spiraling down to rest atop glass-fronted cases housing shiny sets of lacquered armor.

And, of course, since it was a history museum, nearly everything one could think of rested within its walls. They started their trip with a brief excursion through the Cultural wing, bypassing the early years in favor of reminiscing in front of the exhibits that featured toys from the eras of their various childhoods and yellowing newspapers proclaiming comparatively ancient bits of news. They spent nearly an hour in the dinosaur hall, camera flashing as Eddie and Jackie posed awkwardly in front of reassembled skeletons and a snarling foam-rubber reproduction of a T-rex.

Eddie was fairly unconcerned about being recognized. When he was out and about as the Riddler, people didn't look at the man under the costume. They saw the suit, or the cane, or (more frequently) the weapons pointed in their direction. Between the costumes, the henchgirls, the guns, the riddles and the inevitable Batman, who had time to look at his _face_? And besides, the Riddler would _hardly_ be paying a trip to a museum in the company of two obvious tourists.

Jackie, on the other hand, was panicking. When her father cracked a bad joke, she winced. When her mother wanted "just one more picture", she obediently smiled, hoping that her frantically racing mind wasn't warping her expression into anything but good-natured humor.

Perhaps she would have been calmer if he'd actually been her...she didn't want to think the word _boyfriend_, it seemed ridiculous to call anyone over the age of twenty-one a _boyfriend_, but that was the best word she could come up with...she knew she was nervous when she started quibbling over semantics. At any rate, if he _had_ actually been her...boyfriend-by-a-different-name...at least she'd have some kind of comfort in knowing that no matter how ridiculous her parents were, he'd still like her. If she wanted him to like her. Did she?

Oh, it was hopeless. She'd just smile and nod and keep going. Whatever came her way, she'd get through it and everything would turn out all right. Her parents would go home happy and ignorant, that was the important thing. Smile and nod and let them waste as much time as they liked at the museum...

It was a perfect plan. Unfortunately, it failed to take into account the fact that they were rapidly progressing deeper and deeper into the Hall of Gotham. Jackie had never been there before, so she hadn't known that when the Hall's signs said that they displayed "_Every_ bit of Gotham's history", they meant it.

When out-of-town people considered the big names of Gotham, there were only a handful that topped everyone's list. Oh, certainly the Mayor was an _important_ person, yes, but what did he have to do with them? Politicians were boring. No, the big names were the ones that had had a personal impact on their lives. Professional athletes, movie starlets, and the occasional gossip-worthy rich man were represented in the hall, somewhat sketchily, because the main focus of the end of the hallway were the biggest of big names, the most famous of famous people, the most wild and colorful population that any city had to offer the world: the rogues.

The museum had bowed to that time-honored tradition: Violence sells. No one cared about seeing the first knife used in the invention of Spaghetti-O's. But the first knife ever tied to a Joker crime scene - ah, now _that_ drew the crowds like bees to a field of clover. And, sure enough, the hall was packed with people pointing and staring at the displays.

Harley Quinn's red-and-black spandex hung neatly next to one of the Joker's purple suits, both covered in singe marks and bloodstains. An oversized, battered top hat with a spray of destroyed electronics jutting from the brim rested over a complicated mess of burlap-wrapped tubing that had to have come from the Scarecrow's sleeve. And next to that, gleaming in the soft lighting of the museum, was a green-and-gold cane topped with a massive question mark...

Jackie came to an abrupt halt. Since she was leading the group, and since Rick and Violet were glancing at the displays as they sauntered past them, this meant that they rebounded off of one another like bowling pins.

"Careful," Rick grunted.

"Sorry, Dad. I just...I got dizzy all of a sudden," Jackie lied, bracing herself with a hand on the nearest display case.

"Are you all right?" Violet asked, raising the back of her hand to Jackie's forehead. "You are a little warm."

"I haven't been feeling very well today," Jackie confessed, trying to look as sick as she could. "Maybe we should just go back home."

"You really feel that bad?" Rick offered her an arm to hold on to. "Are you sure you don't need to go to a hospital?"

"No, Dad, I think it's just food poisoning or something..."

Eddie trotted up, looking as if he intended to tug Jackie back to a previous exhibit that had captured his interest. When he saw her hunched and moaning, a specific series of reflexes kicked in.

Was there a vigilante on the ground nearby? No. Behind him? No. How about up in the ceiling? No, it was smooth and high with no footholds for clinging Bat-types. Was anyone perched on a display case? No. He patted his side for a gun he hadn't taken and inwardly cursed. "Are you all right?" he asked urgently.

"I'm okay, just sick," Jackie mumbled.

"Oh! There's a bench down that way," he said, waving toward the end of the hall - the end that was inconveniently placed _after_ the damning rogue exhibit with Eddie's smiling picture posted neatly inside.

"No!" she yelped as they started to move in that direction. "No, Eddie, I need to go home." She flicked her gaze desperately toward the display of roguehood on the wall, praying he'd get the hint.

He didn't. But thankfully, he didn't have to. Her parents, still a little curious about the weird little twitchy glances Eddie had fired in all directions, gently led them back down to the lobby.

The lobby benches were squishy and soft, with enormous vinyl-covered cushions resting in long troughlike frames that instantly tipped whoever sat in them toward the center. Jackie, not knowing this, weakly sat down and was promptly catapulted onto her back. A nearby museum employee snickered quietly and moved away.

"Do you want something to drink? The gift shop would probably have something," Violet offered.

"Sure," she muttered. Violet and Rick hurried away on their search as Eddie cautiously took a seat next to Jackie.

When her parents were sufficiently out of earshot, Jackie let loose an immense sigh. "This was a mistake," she moaned.

"The museum?" Eddie asked.

"No. Well, yes. Well...I never should have invited them!" She drew her foot up to the bench top and nervously fiddled with her shoelace. "I should have just...I don't know, I could have told them not to come."

Eddie looked her over. There was a distinct lack of weak illness showing itself. "Feeling better?"

"Loads," she muttered. She turned on him with a sugary, innocent smile. "And how's that ankle?"

"Ankle?...oh. It's fine."

"Yeah, I bet it is, clever-pants," Jackie chuckled. "You big phony."

"Look who's talking," he protested. "At least I faked it for a reason. I've got work to do, remember? We're almost out of cash. And anyway, do you know how many times we almost died this morning?"

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered. "You want a reason? Did you really want us to hang out in front of the exhibit featuring someone's smug little picture plastered right under his question-marked socks?"

"There's an exhibit about _me_?" Eddie asked, delighted. He rocked forward on the bench and began to get up.

"Don't you _dare_," Jackie hissed. "You're supposed to be concerned about me, right?" She darted a quick glance toward the gift shop. Her parents, framed in the window, were approaching a display that would point them right in their direction. "Look concerned!" she whispered. "They're coming!"

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know! Something!"

He tentatively wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Better?"

There was a small, awkward pause. "Yes," she finally answered. They sat there stiffly, like two high schoolers in drama class waiting for the director to give them new blocking.

* * *

It's important to choose your friends carefully. Like it or not, the more time you spend with someone, the more you'll begin to act like them. If you associate with musicians, you'll pick up their slang, and their habits, and sooner or later you might pick up an instrument just to see what all the fuss is about.

If, like the Riddler, you spent a sizeable amount of your time locked in a recreation room with a handful of crazed ex-psychiatrists, it's almost a given that you would pick up some of _their_ traits as they talked shop in the corner. He'd acquired some very useful information from eavesdropping - enough that he'd been able to convince his therapist of his miraculously returned sanity numerous times. All it took was a few weeks of begrudgingly "letting go" of his riddles and the right body language, and _bam_! He was out on the streets again. You could get away with a lot if you could convince people you were sincere - and a large part of convincing them was reading _their_ body language and adapting your responses to make them react the way you wanted them to.

Jackie's shoulders were so tensed up that it felt like he was cuddling a statue. He forced himself to nonchalantly glance toward the door, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. The lobby was full of patrons browsing pamphlets and tour groups setting off after backward-walking guides. A cluster of business-suited men loitered by the door.

The hairs on the back of Eddie's neck started prickling as he read in their slouches and idle staring that they were waiting for someone and they'd been ordered to look casual. That generally meant one thing - a rogue was on their way. And given that the hulking man who had just squeezed into the building was Scarface's chief lackey, the theory was looking better every minute. (Or worse, depending on your viewpoint.)

"We have to go," Eddie muttered, sliding them forward on the bench. A security guard strolled past, taking his time as he inspected the wall for reasons that probably had a lot to do with how boring it was to pace a big room all day. His day was about to get a lot more exciting, and Eddie wanted no part of it. "We have to go _now_," he insisted.

"Why?"

Eddie was torn. If he told her straight out, the guard would hear - and he really didn't need _that_ getting back to Scarface. Rogues didn't rat each other out, even accidentally. On the other hand, if they didn't leave _now_, they might not get to leave at all. "Because we do," he answered, looking meaningfully at the small group of men clustered by the door.

She followed his glance. "You know them?" she whispered.

"I know them well enough to know that we need to leave. Now." He waved meaningfully through the huge windows of the gift shop at Jackie's parents, who dropped what they were holding and scurried back to the lobby bench.

"Are you okay?" Violet asked.

The group by the door had huddled together around a very small spokesperson. "I'll be okay once we get home," Jackie muttered, getting up with carefully trembling limbs.

With one awkwardly protective arm wrapped around her, Eddie led Jackie to the front door of the museum. As they approached it, the slab of henchman known as Rhino shuffled into their path, preparing to relieve them of all their troublesome little valuables.

Eddie glared at him icily. "Yes?"

Dull recognition filtered onto the massive man's features. "Oh. Sorry to bother ya," he grunted, politely stepping back so that the group could leave the museum.

Violet gasped with delight as she saw the small group lurking near the doors. "Oh, look, Jackie, a ventriloquist!" she chirped. "Does he come here often?"

"Yes," Eddie muttered.

"We'll have to come back and see him when you're better!" Violet chirped as they walked back into the bright orange light of a Gotham sunset.

* * *

Jackie staggered to the couch and sank down into the soft cushions with a dramatic sigh of relief. "I'm sorry," she apologized to her parents. "You came all the way to Gotham and here I am, sick..."

"That's okay, sweetie," her mom smiled. "It'll just give us some more quality time to spend with your Eddie!"

Eddie, who had been struggling out of his ridiculously orange sweatshirt, froze with the hood wrapped around his chin. He didn't have _time_ for this. The urge to run - just run, and get permanently away from these overly friendly people, surged up in him. Yeah. He'd run, and go back to his lair...and then the truth would come out, and Rick would probably track him down and beat him senseless for corrupting his daughter - which he hadn't done, but no one was ever going to believe that. He sighed and continued unwinding the sweatshirt.

"But Mom, he has work to do," Jackie protested.

"We've hardly spent any time at all with him!" Violet said. "And besides, we hardly know anything about him. We've got to make sure he's not a murderer or something like that, don't we?"

There was a moment of fossilized silence. "Yeah," Jackie said with a forced laugh. "Wouldn't that be terrible?"

Eddie fought the sweatshirt off of his head and stuffed it into the closet. Really, _that_ was an unfair accusation. He hadn't killed anyone in...oh, it had to be at least five years, and anyway, that guy should have known better than to mess with a gigantic watermelon covered in question marks. He'd completely ruined the riddle inside it, too, when he'd set off the explosion...when Eddie had shown up an hour later to check on the riddle, he'd been very vexed indeed to find it splattered across the building peppered with watermelon seeds.

He dismissed the memory and padded into the living room, where Jackie had been thoroughly swathed in blankets on the couch. "What do you do for fun around here, Ed?" Rick asked from his spot in the overly pink armchair.

Eddie shrugged. "Not much, really." _Not anything I can tell you about._

"We could watch TV," Jackie suggested, pointing at a - what else? - bright pink remote sitting neatly on a doily. Violet scooped it up and turned the set on. The first thing that they saw was Scarface's wooden, glaring eyes as he menaced the cameraman.

"I'm going to go get a drink," Eddie said, hurrying into the kitchen. He didn't need to be around to see this.

"...robbery today at the Gotham History Museum," a reporter said with solemn concern. The screen glowed with a scene of panic, museum patrons scuttling behind pillars and benches as Scarface and his henchmen strode through the hall toward the precious stones hall.

"That's where we were!" Violet gasped.

"Fortunately, the Batman arrived on the scene in time to apprehend the mastermind and his...assistant," the reporter said, neglecting to mention which role the human in the strange partnership held. The screen filled with the swirling fury of fists and feet that was the Batman in Apprehension Mode. "Arnold Wesker and Scarface were transferred back to Arkham Asylum. In related news, Dr. Carlson, head administrator of the asylum, announced the opening of a new high-security wing..."

"We're lucky you felt sick," Rick said to Jackie. "We could have been there!"

"It's too bad that we didn't get to see the Batman, though," Violet said dreamily. From deep within the kitchen, there was a sound akin to the ones made by breaching whales as Eddie choked on a mouthful of water.

"You okay in there, Ed?" Rick called.

"Fine," Eddie coughed, rejoining the group. "Fine."

Violet was still staring at the television, where a still image of Batman, cape flaring dramatically, was superimposed over a shot of the Ventriloquist and a handful of splinters that used to be Scarface's left leg. "Vi. _Vi_!" Rick snapped.

"Hmm?" She refocused on reality, blushing as she realized that she'd been caught mooning over the Batman. "What? He's an attractive man," she said defensively. "And I'm not the only one to look, _isn't that right Rick_?"

Rick jammed his hands into his pockets. "That's enough, Vi," he grumbled.

Violet grinned cheekily and perched on the end of the sofa near Jackie's feet. "When we went to Metropolis last year, one of the newspapers said that the JLA would be in town that weekend for something or another."

"Museum dedication," Rick said unthinkingly, wincing at his unplanned entry into the conversation.

"Anyway, dear, your father spent the entire trip wondering if we'd see Wonder Woman there. It was Wonder Woman this and Wonder Woman that - it _was_," she insisted as Rick's face fought to show both embarrassment and anger at the same time. "And when we went to the museum dedication and she _was_ there, he couldn't get that camera up fast enough. He hit himself in the face with it so hard that he had a camera-shaped bruise on his face for weeks!"

"_Vi_! Enough!" Rick shouted. He glanced over at Eddie and shrugged.

Eddie nodded back. He couldn't blame him - Wonder Woman was _hot_. There was a reason she wore that strapless leotard - it made every man on earth go weak at the knees on their first sight of her. She was slightly less attractive about ten minutes later, when (as in his case) she'd had him trussed up like a calf at a rodeo and babbling the details of his plan without the benefit of wrapping it in a comforting riddle or two first. It seemed monstrously unfair to Eddie that nearly all the really attractive women in this world were either superheroes or psychotically devoted to men who weren't him...

"So, Eddie, have _you_ ever met the Batman?" Violet asked.

"Of course," he said, still half-submerged in the land of long Amazon legs. Jackie spasmed with frantic coughs on the sofa. "I mean, who in Gotham hasn't?" he corrected frantically.

"What's he really like?" Violet asked intently. "Is he nice? I bet he's nice."

Nice. Nice?! "He's...great," Eddie said flatly. "Really great."

"Where did you see him?" Violet flicked the blanket off of the edge of the couch cushion and squeezed herself in next to Jackie's feet. "Did he save you from one of those...what are they called, Rick? Rascals?"

"Rogues."

"That's it! Rogues," Violet twinkled.

"No, he didn't," Eddie muttered.

"Is he tall? He looks _very_ tall."

"He's huge." Painfully, monstrously, irritatingly huge. As Violet went on to ask him every single detail about the Batman, Eddie reflected that it wasn't nearly as fun to _answer_ questions rather than ask them. Twenty Questions turned into thirty, then forty, then fifty...

And then, blessedly, thankfully, his cell phone rang. "Excuse me," he said, leaping to his feet. "I have to take this." He scurried into his bedroom and closed himself off from the rest of the apartment. "Hello?" he said happily into the phone.

A mechanical prerecorded voice clicked on. "Hello, we're calling to tell you about exciting new Gotham Lady perfume. It makes women feel like women, and the men have no complaints either."

How had the telemarketers gotten his telephone number - an unlisted, totally illegal line that _no one_ should have been able to trace? Maybe they had some kind of deal with a demon to supply them with new numbers. Really, demonic telemarketers made a lot of sense...

"Yes, I'll get right on that," he said, loud enough for his voice to carry through the door and into the living room. And then, with notebook in hand, he flopped down on the bed for some serious riddling.

But for some reason, the riddles wouldn't come. Maybe it was all the residual adrenaline from their various car rides that day - prolonged terror definitely wore away the creative impulses - or maybe it was just the fact that Violet was now watching some mindless reality show at top volume.

They were only going to be here for five more days, he consoled himself. Surely he could manage to stay out of sight for five measly days! And then they'd be gone, and he could get back to the business of outsmarting the Batman.

The television blared idiocy through the wall. Or maybe, he thought as he yanked a pillow around his head, he'd do the world a favor first and blow up all the TV studios.

(_to be continued_)

* * *

_Author's Note: The telemarketer's message was from Batman Returns. Sorry for the long gap between updates - there are not enough hours in the day for me to do everything that I want to do._


	4. Cat Tales

It is said that April showers bring May flowers. Surely, then, November showers must bring December something other than mud. But no, November in Gotham was a total jerk, and the faint mist of rain spattering the concrete did nothing but moisten the streets and wash the dirt off of an occasional dead rat. It clung to the windows, pebbling them with tiny droplets that effectively obscured anything interesting that might be happening on the other side of the glass.

Jackie was huddled on the couch, impatiently watching the pink clock as it ticked quietly toward 3 AM. It had been easy enough to feign illness for the first few hours, since she was absolutely exhausted from the stress of making up an entire life to show her parents. But when it had stretched to a day, then two, then three - she'd never expected it to be this difficult just to lay on a couch and pretend to feel terrible!

Daytime was probably the hardest. Since she "had the flu", she was forced to weakly decline most of the food that came her way - and since they weren't leaving the apartment, Violet had taken on the task of cooking all their meals. It was incredibly difficult to stay put on the couch while the smell of delicious homemade beef roast with all the trimmings was wafting out of the kitchen. It was, perhaps, even more difficult to choke down her sickbed meals of noodles and toast while the smell of spicy chicken paprikash lingered in the air.

Her stomach, which didn't understand the need for all this undercover playacting, took to rumbling its displeasure while she listened to the other three enjoying their meals. She hadn't expected Eddie to come out of his bedroom until they were gone - the disastrous trip to the museum combined with her dad's wild driving would have been enough to scare off most people - but Violet had lured him out with the promise of dinner. One bite of three-cheese lasagna and he was putty in her hands. Jackie could almost see him gaining weight - and no wonder, with the amount of food that he was able to put away.

He was still awake. She could see the light glimmering underneath his closed door. He'd been working almost nonstop this week to try and make up for all those riddles in his notebook, lost forever to the clutches of the Batman. Of course, that was just a guess. He could have been doing just about anything in there, except perhaps working on his deathtraps. She'd specifically made certain that the apartment was deathtrap-free shortly before she'd moved them in.

A white-and-red blur, most likely the pizza guy from the 24-hour place down the street, whizzed by on the damp pavement below. She couldn't stand it any longer. Her parents had been in bed for hours and her stomach was contemplating murder if she didn't eat something _soon_. With only moonlight guiding her, she crept into the kitchen and eased the refrigerator door open.

Never had leftovers looked more appetizing. She cracked open the paprikash and popped a pair of dumplings in her mouth while she foraged for more food, chewing ecstatically as the spicy treats made her tongue tingle. Roast beef and potatoes and peas? Oh, _yes_, and a bit of that lasagna while she was at it. She balanced the overloaded plate gently in one hand and chuckled happily to herself as she closed the fridge and burrowed in the nearest drawer for a fork.

With a massive forkful of lasagna quivering in her fingers, she opened her mouth, preparing to swallow it cold without the bother of chewing first.

The lights clicked on. "You must be feeling better," Violet said cheerfully, padding into the little kitchen.

Jackie paused, mouth still gaping around the forkload of dinner. _Damndamndamndamndamn_! "Yep," she agreed, lowering the fork. So much for subterfuge.

"Well, go on, eat!" Violet urged, taking a glass down from the cupboard and heading for the sink. "I just got up for a glass of water."

Jackie scurried to the microwave and jammed her overloaded plate inside. If she was going to eat this delicious food, she was going to do it right - and, of course, it helped that she didn't have to be sneaky about it anymore. The microwave whirred into life with her dinner spinning inside of it.

Violet tipped the last of her drink into her mouth and smiled. "Don't stay up too late," she advised. "Tomorrow's another big day!"

The microwave beeped. _Yeah_, thought Jackie glumly, _another big day...Eddie's going to be thrilled._ Well, at least she had three days' worth of leftovers to console her while she tried to figure out a way to keep things from going _too_ badly...

* * *

Shortly after the sun came up, the apartment whirred with the brisk sounds of people scrambling to get ready. Violet and Rick had a lot of sightseeing to do, and they were determined to squeeze everything in - including some more _quality time_ with Eddie.

"Is he ready?" Violet asked Jackie as she buckled on a shoe.

"I'll, um, go check." Jackie edged down the hall to Eddie's doorway and tentatively looked inside. In the gloom, she could barely make out a human form sprawled under a thick blanket. One bare foot stuck out, dangling over the edge of the mattress like a forgotten toy. "Eddie?" she called.

"Mpherhrm."

"Eddie, we're going to leave soon..."

"Have fun," he muttered.

"No, no. _We're_ leaving soon."

"Mph."

Violet threw the door open. "I thought you said you were getting ready half an hour ago!" she scolded.

"'M _tired_," he grunted. Shaking her head, Violet flicked the lightswitch on. Searing white light filled the room. "Hey!" he yelped, pulling the covers over his head. Loose papers rustled and slipped to the floor from their previous spots, filed haphazardly in piles that covered the blanket.

Violet looked at Jackie with a mischievous grin. With one swift yank, the comforter flew from Eddie's grasp and settled neatly over Jackie's head. She clawed at it, yanking frantically at it to hopefully confirm that what she dreaded wasn't happening. No. No, her mother wouldn't...

Oh, yes she would. Her mother had Eddie firmly by the feet. His pajama pants wrinkled and bunched up around his legs as he thrashed, trying to wrench his ankles out of her grip. He wasn't wearing a shirt. Jackie couldn't help but wince as she saw pale remnants of spiderwebbed scars patchworked across his torso, briefly cutting across the sparse little trail of hair across his chest - she looked away, blushing furiously as she realized she'd been staring.

With patient, experienced movements, Violet avoided the Riddler's flailing limbs and dragged him forcibly out of the bed. He snatched at the blankets for support, found none, and crashed to the floor. "Go get ready," she ordered.

He sat on the floorboards, blinking resentfully. "Why should I?"

"If you come with us, I'll make you waffles."

The battle raged over Eddie's sleepy face. He could probably manage to kill Violet with _something_ in this little bedroom...then again, if he killed her, he wouldn't get waffles. "'Kay," he grunted, hauling himself upright with the bedpost.

* * *

Their itinerary had included all of Gotham's landmarks. Unfortunately, the weather had other ideas, and rain drove them to the only indoor landmark that Eddie could think of offhand - The Crystal Palace Mall. The Palace was Lex Luthor's idea of the ideal American mall. It was tall and shiny and crammed from top to bottom with every kind of merchandise available.

Eddie had never particularly cared for it. It was full of tourist gimcrackery and cheap restaurants - which, he supposed, was America, to some degree. Still, he'd never bothered to actually go in before. He hadn't missed much. He'd never been one for browsing. If something was there, and you wanted it, you _took_ it - preferably with a fiendishly clever riddle sent out to the appropriate recipients beforehand. The concept of walking through a mall, trying to decide which item to buy with limited funds, was totally outside of his current field of experience.

Unfortunately for the other three members of their party, it was what Violet lived for. They'd spent the entire day inside, watching Violet flit excitedly from store to store, getting into detailed conversations with the staff and weighing the merits of a suitcase full of ceramic knickknacks on an airplane.

The only part of the day that he'd really enjoyed was when Violet had dragged Jackie off to play dress-up. It was remarkably comforting to see Violet willingly parading around in outfits that would have looked right at home in the rogues' side of the Iceberg. The high point of the fashion show was when Violet had ordered Jackie into a floor-length lime-green sparkly ballgown with more feathers than the average ostrich. Jackie had emerged, blushing furiously, glaring at Eddie with an expression that screamed _Don't say a word. Not. One. Word. _Violet had clapped her hands delightedly and chirped "Oh! You look so _good_ in green!"

Eddie silently agreed. Oh, yes, she looked _really_ good in green...really, _really_ - he caught Rick looking at him and mentally backpedaled, visions of shotguns dancing through his head. Nice. Yes. She looked nice.

Four hours of mind-numbing shopping later, the little group left the mall. As they wandered down the sidewalk toward their car, Eddie trailed behind. He was still idly daydreaming about the dress, wondering if Kittlemeier had anything similar that he could do - perhaps with the feathers as weapons? Surely he would have something, given the Penguin's habits - when a pair of silky arms draped themselves lovingly around his neck. The hands belonging to the arms slipped over his eyes. "Guess who?" a happy voice purred.

Eddie smiled. He knew perfectly well who it was. "I have no idea," he teased. "Could it be Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile?"

"Nooooo," the voice trailed off.

He grinned impishly. "I know! Is it, perhaps, Paris Hilton?"

The pair of elbows on his shoulders shoved him, just hard enough to make the point that no, it was not Paris Hilton, and more to the point, being referred to as Paris Hilton was a terrible insult to the elbows' dignity.

"Then it must be my **actor at five**, Selina!"

She laughed and uncovered his eyes. His happy smile faded just a touch as he realized that Violet, Rick, and Jackie were staring at him with utter confusion (and, in Rick's case, a little bit of raw envy) blazing in their eyes.

Oh. Well, he'd just explain that he knew Selina from...oh. No, he couldn't, could he?

"What are you doing out so early?" Selina asked him teasingly.

"Shopping," he muttered.

"Shopping? _You_?" she chuckled.

"Yes. I don't think you've met Jackie yet," he introduced, abruptly pulling her to his side.

"Oh!" Selina said delightedly. "Your new-"

"My new _girlfriend_," he interrupted. "And her parents, Rick and Violet."

One of the many things you learn quickly in a life of thievery is the ability to communicate in absolute silence. You can't go into a museum, barking orders like a drill sergeant, and expect to walk out again with whatever you wanted. (Well, you _can_, but only if your plans also include killing everyone inside - and really, carrying around enough weaponry to off that many guards can be _such_ a hassle.)

So when Eddie gave Selina a pleading, desperate look, she correctly interpreted it to mean that the girl's parents didn't know that she was his new henchgirl. Likewise, when Selina nodded back to him, he understood it to mean that she'd play along.

"How lovely to meet you!" she said, instantly a charming society woman. "Eddie's told me so much about you," she added, clasping Jackie's hand with a wink.

"Jackie, this is my friend, Selina," Eddie said, watching Jackie's face closely. Her expression skipped from '_who's this random stranger?_' to '_isn't Selina the Catwoman?_' quickly followed by '_what the hell, Eddie, you never told me you were friends with the hottest thing to hit the streets of Gotham since Firefly's jetpack malfunctioned!_' Well, he'd deal with that a little later.

"What brings you to this area?" he asked Selina. "I didn't think you were one for malls."

"I'm not," she shrugged. "I'm on my way to the Vauxhall to see_ Pelléas et Mélisande_, and I want to get a look at that exhibit of early Kandinsky in the lobby..." Of course. The kitty _loved_ pretties like that - and now that he looked for it, he could see that beneath her stylish long black coat, she was wearing her costume. Obviously, she had plans for later tonight as well...

"Are you enjoying Gotham?" Selina asked.

"It's a very beautiful city...what we've seen of it," Violet said. "We haven't had much of a chance to get out on the town, since Jackie's been feeling a little sick lately..." Jackie turned scarlet and stared at the ground.

"I hope you're feeling better," Selina said politely.

"Fine," Jackie mumbled.

"Eddie was telling me about your last...staff meeting," Selina chuckled. "Nice work, though you may want to ease off on the little guy next time."

It hardly seemed possible, but Jackie turned an even brighter shade of red. "I didn't mean that," she protested in a barely audible murmur.

"It certainly got your point across," Selina smiled. "So, Eddie, will I see you at Harvey's Thanksgiving party?"

"No, we're having dinner with...the family," Eddie replied.

Selina tucked an errant strand of long black hair behind her ear. "Oh, the girls will be disappointed."

"This Harvey fellow has daughters?" Violet asked.

"Yes. Two girls," Eddie lied.

"That's nice," Violet smiled. The sun dipped below the horizon.

"It was lovely to meet you," Selina said, adjusting her gloves, "but I've got an...appointment." She winked at Eddie. "I'll be sure to tell him you say hi."

"I'd prefer that you didn't," Eddie muttered.

With a wave, Selina clicked off on her very high heels down the sidewalk.

"She was...interesting," Violet remarked slowly as she strode out of earshot. "How long have you known her?"

"A few years," Eddie said vaguely. He had the uncomfortable feeling that Violet and Rick _knew_ about Selina, somehow. What they knew, he wasn't sure, but they definitely knew _something_. They were giving each other a little look of parental suspicion. What could they possibly suspect about Selina?

...Oh. _Oh_. It probably didn't look very good to have her draped all over him. And presumably, they'd seen her long, shiny black gloves - the kind that no one reputable tended to wear on a trip to the opera.

"I'd like to go look in that store. You men can stay here - Jackie and I will be fine by ourselves," Violet said brightly, seizing Jackie by the wrist and propelling her into the nearest little shop.

Eddie winced as Rick laid a very large and threatening hand on his shoulder. "Jackie's very important to me," Rick growled softly. "If someone was to..._hurt_ her...I'd be very unhappy." The hand squeezed his shoulder until bone grated against bone. "_Very_ unhappy," Rick finished softly.

"I understand," Eddie muttered. Why was it that everyone wanted to treat him like a punching bag? Was there an invisible sign somewhere that said "Hit the Riddler, win a prize?"

* * *

Jackie and Violet had separated in the shoe store. Violet had seen a darling pair of heels that she simply _had_ to try on, and she was off searching for a salesman to help her. Jackie, who was thinking about anything but shoes, picked up the nearest one and numbly turned it over and over in her hands while her thoughts ricocheted in her brain like crazed squirrels.

She didn't know what to think. She was already insecure enough about the whole henchgirl thing without being confronted with some of the very best that the rogues' gallery had to offer.

How could she possibly feel confident about being his henchgirl when he had friends like Selina? How could she ever possibly compete with anyone like that? If he had...if _they_ had...they'd known each other for years, right? What if they'd...dammit, how the hell was any woman supposed to feel good about herself after spending time with Selina? She was smart and beautiful and confident and she made Jackie seem like a lump of wood.

And now that she thought of it, nearly all of the other women of the gallery were drop-dead beautiful too. Even Eddie's old trio had been built like Barbie dolls. Would he really want to waste his time with pudgy, average Jackie when he had a set of gorgeous women literally crawling all over him?

But no, that was stupid, wasn't it? He _didn't_ want the trio - he wanted them dead. And as for Selina, well, surely they'd never been...together? Surely _someone_ would have told her. Harley Quinn had gushed about all sorts of rogue gossip when she'd stayed overnight, and Harley kept secrets about as well as Arkham kept rogues. She'd told Jackie all about the other relationships, and the ones who _wanted_ relationships...and she'd said that Selina had the hots for _Batman_! Her shoulder muscles relaxed slightly. It didn't matter if Eddie liked Selina...well, yes, it _did_, but not as much as it _could_ have because Selina liked someone else!

"Jackie?"

She blinked, gathering her thoughts, and turned to see Violet holding a neatly boxed pair of shoes. "Yeah?"

"Are you all right? You've been holding that shoe for fifteen minutes," Violet pointed out.

Jackie hurriedly set it down. "I'm fine, Mom."

"That friend of Eddie's was...nice," Violet said tentatively. "Have you ever met her before?"

"No, Mom."

"You seem upset," Violet offered. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Everything's okay, Mom." Violet clearly didn't buy it. "She's just his friend."

"Are you sure about that?" Violet glanced over her shoulder, making sure that Eddie and Rick were still outside. "Sweetie, a woman like _that_, well...she's so..."

Violet did her best to explain, in her wandering fashion, that there was something about Selina that screamed of power. When you looked at her, you got the impression that getting in her way would be just about as useful as getting in the way of a steamroller. And then, looking at Eddie, who radiated about as much power as a potato out of costume, the questions boiled over. How would they have met? Why would they be friends? Unless it was..._that_ kind of "friendship", which only raised further questions.

"You've got to be careful," Violet finished.

"I trust him," Jackie said, only then realizing that she did. She really did trust him. Hadn't he done just about everything possible to ensure that the week went well for her? He'd gotten a new lair, and a new wardrobe, and while that may have been easy enough, she knew how hard it must have been for him not to do anything riddle-y around her parents. Would a supervillain put forth that kind of effort for anyone if he _didn't_ like her?

He would if he wanted something out of her. Did he want...oh, _stop_ it. She was borrowing trouble.

"You're sure?" Violet asked.

"Mom, he's fine, I'm fine. Can we talk about something else?"

Violet nodded. "Thanksgiving's only a few days away! We should pick up some groceries on the way home."

Jackie smiled agreement. Yes, they'd pick up everything they needed for dinner, and Mr. I-Let-Catwoman-Drape-Herself-All-Over-Me could have the job of wrestling the giant frozen turkey back to the apartment on the subway. They left the store and headed home, not noticing Eddie as he trailed behind, trying to massage a hand-shaped dent out of his shoulder.

(_to be continued_)

* * *

_Author's Note: If I was ever in town for a week at a time, I'd be able to update more frequently. Gah. This chapter's dedicated to ex-Gotham cop Timothy Messick, since I spent half the friggin' day yesterday on the phone stealing his package. (Google Operation Slipknot for details.) On the bright side, if I ever need to masquerade as a middle-aged Gothamite man, I've now got the driver's license to go with the disguise. Yay!_


	5. Bats and Loathing in Gotham City

Part of growing up is being embarrassed by your parents. It's only natural. Adolescents try so hard to break out of their parents' shadows and be their own person that they automatically dislike whatever their parents might enjoy. Children of painters shy away from paintings, children of dancers reject the ballet, and children of musicians cringe and change the station when their parents show up on the radio.

Eventually, this phase passes when adolescents realize that they can be their own person without competing with their parents' interests. That is, of course, unless their parents' interests and behavior are themselves embarrassing.

As a special treat, Jackie had surprised her mother with front-row tickets to Wicked. (Normally, such tickets would be almost impossible to acquire. Then again, normally, it wasn't the Riddler asking, and the ticket-holder they'd approached was very agreeable to giving up his tickets in exchange for not showing up in police files as Riddler Victim #2716-B.) The day of the show had been filled with sightseeing, tourism, and - regrettably - music.

Violet was just a little excited about seeing the show, in much the same way as Harley Quinn was just a little excited about hugging the Joker. And so, in between her constant digressions into Wicked trivia, she sang the score to the show. It started off quietly, as a simple chirpy humming, but as it grew closer and closer to curtain time, the lyrics started slipping out. By five o'clock, all pretense of being quiet had been abandoned for sheer exhilaration and loud vocals.

It had been bad enough for Jackie when her father had almost given Eddie a heart attack with his terrible driving. It had been worse when her mother had dropped artful little hints about wedding dates. She'd thought that _nothing_ could top her mother dragging the Riddler out of bed by his heels and dumping him on the floor as riddles flew in a shower around them. But this was definitely taking top prize as Most Embarrassing Day of Her Life, Ever.

She'd hoped that the singing would stop after the show. She'd _prayed_ that the singing would stop after the show. Unfortunately, whatever gods were out there were clearly not listening to her - either that, or they were clustered around with the popcorn and laughing themselves silly as Violet proceeded to sing along with the cast throughout the whole show.

The house lights rose as the mad applause died down. "No one mourns the wicked..." Violet singsonged.

"Mom. _Please_," Jackie snapped. "Please stop singing."

But Violet, caught in the throes of post-show giddiness, didn't listen. She sang as they gathered their coats, she sang as they fought their way through the press of audience members in the lobby, and she sang as they strolled down the sidewalk away from the theater.

"_Loa-thing_," Violet belted out, fairly dancing down the street, one arm looped around her husband. "_Un-a-dul-terated loathing_!"

"Does she ever _stop_?" Eddie asked under his breath as they trailed Jackie's parents.

"No. _Mom_," Jackie called, "we're in _public_."

"_There's such strange exhilaration, in such total detestation_," Violet continued, ignoring Jackie as she hid her face with utter shame behind a fleece-gloved hand.

The visit had been anything but peaceful. Jackie's nerves had slowly tightened through the week, and now her patience had thinned to near breaking point. Her mother was singing in downtown Gotham, surrounded by upper-class snobs and people who clearly thought that she had lost her mind. She was singing in front of Eddie, who Jackie was still horribly confused about and who was keeping his face tucked firmly under the hood of his coat so that passersby wouldn't notice him. He couldn't have attention drawn to himself, not downtown, not at night.

"Mom!" Jackie growled, darting up next to her and pulling violently on her sleeve. "Stop. Singing."

"..._with someone so disgusticified_...what's wrong?" Violet asked, somewhat surprised to see Jackie glaring at her. "Don't you like Wicked?"

The tiny thread of her patience gave way, unleashing the flood of resentful shame that had swelled up like an overinflated balloon inside her. "No!" Jackie shrieked. "I can't stand it!"

"What?" Violet asked, appalled. "How can you not like Wicked? It's...it's _Wicked_!"

"Exactly!" Jackie shouted. "The book destroyed any _hint_ of staying true to the original books and the musical couldn't even bother to stay somewhat along the lines of the remake!"

"Ladies, please," Eddie said uneasily, noting the stares they were drawing.

"But you _love_ the Wizard of Oz-"

"And that's why I hate _Wicked_! The Wizard of Oz is not a _villain_!" Jackie shrieked at the top of her lungs. "And Nick Chopper is not Boq-"

"Jackie," Eddie hissed, trying to steer them away from all those eyes. He spread his arms and herded the trio away from the crowds, shooing them into the nearest dark alley.

She ignored him, focusing fully on her argument. "And Fiyero _is not the goddamned Scarecrow_!"

"_Jackie_," Eddie repeated urgently. Phrases like "the goddamned Scarecrow" had been known to get people killed in the past.

"And if you thought for _one minute_ that I -" Jackie snapped, cutting off abruptly as she bounced off of the nearest wall. She yanked her clothes back into order and made ready to step around the wall...the big, black...oddly human-shaped wall...with two whitely glaring eyes aimed directly at her from underneath the pointy cowl.

Oh, shit.

* * *

It had been a quiet night for the vigilantes of Gotham. November generally _was_ quiet - street crime went indoors when the cold winds started to shriek down the alleyways.

Batman had given Robin the night off from patrol. (Of course, a night off from being Robin wasn't exactly the kind of night off that most teenagers got. Tim was back in the cave, running obstacle courses and refreshing his memory about Gotham's gang lords - and if he was properly following instructions, he was doing both at the same time.)

The lights of Gotham's theater district glowed hotly below him, the thousands of tiny light bulbs lighting up the rooftops and making the fall air burn with the scent of hot glass and frying dust. Huge colored banners for upcoming productions were obscured by the snakes of people fighting their way down the sidewalks.

Thanksgiving was coming soon. Holidays were always busy days for him - a paradox that thankfully kept him from thinking about days past. Rumors had flown in the underworld that Two-Face's henchgirls were planning another blowout Thanksgiving, only this time, they were inviting the entire rogues' gallery.

Some of them wouldn't deign to show up. Others, Batman mused with a flex of a gloved fist, would be _unavoidably detained - _and, indeed, in the past few days he'd managed to lock away Killer Croc and -

"...the _goddamned Scarecrow_!" a female voice shrieked on the sidewalk below, echoing his thoughts. He retuned the distance mic tucked in his cowl and leaned over the rooftop's edge.

"_Jackie_!" Oh, he knew _that_ voice very well. He wasn't aware of any pressing business that the Riddler would have had in the theater district, but it was undeniably him. Check one more guest off of Harvey's list...

He lowered himself to the ground, silent as a shadow, and placed himself right in the girl's path as she stomped angrily toward him. _Thud_.

He'd become a Bat to scare cowardly, superstitious criminals. And as she stumbled backward with fear widening her eyes, he had to admit that he'd done an excellent job of it.

"This...isn't what it looks like," she said lamely, backing toward her boss and two middle-aged civilians.

With the Riddler, it never was. Likewise, a straight inquiry for information would just prompt him to go off on some puzzle tangent that may or may not have anything to do with the situation at hand. So, instead, Batman chose the path that most often got clear answers out of the Riddler: irritating him by intentionally misinterpreting his actions.

"Mugging's a new trick for _you_, isn't it?" he asked, glaring over the heads of the other three.

The Riddler, dressed for some reason in a red ski jacket, puffed up indignantly. "I do not _mug_ people," he said haughtily.

"Why else would you be in a dark alley with them?"

"We were on our way home from the theater, as it happens," the Riddler snapped.

The civilians had pulled the henchgirl to the side. "Do you have something you forgot to tell us?" the man asked her with a slight frown of disapproval.

The girl wilted. "I..." She swallowed uncomfortably, darting sidelong glances at the Batman. "I didn't want to tell you. I haven't been working on software for a while...I've been working for...Eddie. And Eddie's, um..."

The woman smiled. "He's the Riddler. We know."

"_What_?" the Riddler and his lackey bellowed, gaping at the woman.

"You couldn't tell a lie to save your life," the woman informed the henchgirl. "We knew from day one that you were hiding something. We didn't expect..._this_...but we knew something was up. And when I found all those riddles in his bedroom when I pulled him out of bed yesterday..."

"And no man would live in a frilly pink place like _that_ unless he was hiding something," the man continued.

"And he _knew_ that those men were going to rob the museum," the woman finished.

The Riddler had turned scarlet. Whether it was from embarrassment or fury, it was hard to tell, but it was marvelously entertaining either way. "**A heath-hung twit-troll **for _nothing_!" he howled, slamming the side of his fist into the nearest building as the anagram echoed off of the tall brick walls. "You **barbell eve junkies**_..._**heckling **_**flu**_!"

Well, as fun as it was to watch the Riddler self-destruct, he had more business to attend to. With a blurring arm, he snatched the Riddler by the collar of his red coat and jerked him down the alleyway, smoothly ratcheting a pair of cuffs onto his wrists as the furious rogue did a kicking dance of frustration. He settled him down with a quick fist to the head. Then, with the now-dazed Riddler secured, he turned to the henchgirl -

But she was hidden behind the civilians. "Step aside," he ordered.

"You're not hurting our daughter," the man said firmly.

Daughter? _Daughter_? Batman's mind lurched backward in shock. Rogues didn't _have_ parents - or rather, they did, but they tended to ignore them. They didn't hang around with them and introduce them to their boss! They didn't take them to the...the theater...

A small, private corner of Batman's mind collapsed as he realized that he was threatening a couple and their child in a dark alleyway just outside a theater. The man had stepped forward, obviously ready to fight for his offspring, as the mother held her trembling daughter.

He frantically repressed the memories that were exploding in his mind's eye. "Your daughter's a criminal," he growled.

"I don't care. You're not taking her," the man said firmly.

Well, parents sticking up for their children was all fine and good in _normal_ circumstances, but there should really be a point where that goal became secondary to making sure that their daughter wasn't on the fast track to being another one of the Riddler's castoffs. Batman gritted his teeth. This, if anything, was definitive proof that insanity ran in families.

Family. Family. He could feel the memories pulsing in his head, trying desperately to break through the solid focus of Batman. He had to get out of here before he lost control, and he didn't want to deal with this anymore -

And then it hit him. He didn't have to. Henchgirls alone rarely made trouble. They generally only misbehaved when their bosses were around to goad them into action. Even Harley Quinn didn't get up to anything worse than criminal mischief when the Joker was in Arkham. This one most likely wouldn't cause any trouble - she hadn't in the few weeks that Arkham had managed to keep the Riddler last time - and if she _did _cause trouble, he could always pick her up then.

The important thing was to get the Riddler to Arkham. Anything else could and would wait for him to get to it.

All of this reasoning took place in less than five seconds. The only hint that he was thinking was the short scowl that crossed over his features. Then, quick as a hunting spider, he grabbed the Riddler around the waist and grapneled them up to the rooftops.

"AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" the Riddler squealed as his feet suddenly left the ground.

"Shut up," Batman ordered, hauling him like a wriggling sack of kittens across the rooftops toward Arkham.

* * *

Thanksgiving Day in Gotham ticked along as usual for most Gothamites. They gathered together, eating, talking, and laughing, watching football and clinking their glasses in a toast as an emergency news report revealed that the Batman and his associates had managed to round up no less than five rogues at an undisclosed gathering spot.

Jackie and her parents had retreated to the safest place that Jackie knew of - the showplace lair. Oh, certainly Batman could find her there - that was almost guaranteed - but the lair had several advantages over the apartment. The apartment had been carefully decorated without using any weaponry or traps, leaving Jackie totally defenseless in case of a Bat-attack, whereas the lair had been constructed of nothing but hiding spots, traps, weaponry and secret exits. If the Batman had tracked her back to the apartment - well, now she wouldn't be there. But perhaps the most pressing reason to go to the lair was that her parents wanted to see it.

Her father had gruffly approved of the layout of the place, particularly the reinforced doors and the tiny hidden alarms built into the windowframes. Her mother had fallen in love with the theme and had cooed compliments over the solid jade question mark bookends.

She wasn't quite certain why they had sided with her. They'd never appeared to care much for criminals - in fact, her father had been part of a Neighborhood Watch scheme for years - so why had they faced down the Batman for her? Familial loyalty surely couldn't stretch _that_ far.

Every time she'd brought it up, though, they'd brushed her questions aside. The closest thing to an answer that she'd gotten out of either of them was that no matter what she'd done, she was still their daughter and they loved her.

She nudged her turkey across her plate and gazed thoughtfully at the door. It was a day to give thanks, after all, so maybe she should just be thankful that her parents weren't chasing her down the road toward the nearest cop. She was _definitely_ thankful that she'd somehow managed to weasel her way out of being captured, though she had a sinking feeling that she wouldn't be so lucky next time.

* * *

And deep within Arkham, seated once again in the company of his fellow rogues, Edward Nygma toyed with a forkful of disturbingly crunchy potatoes and gave thanks that Batman had only seen fit to give him a minor concussion this time.

* * *

_Author's Note: I dislike most re-imaginings, and my poor beloved Oz has been the victim of some truly horrific remakes. If you want to make a cyberpunk epic about a girl lost in an unforgiving world of terror and darkness, that's _fine_ - just don't drag Dorothy Gale into it. Likewise, I probably would have enjoyed Wicked a lot more had it been set in a world of the author's own imagination._

_Special thanks to my dad for providing theme music on family outings. (Truth is funnier than fiction any day.) _

_Be sure to look for the sequel to this story, "Home is Where the Heart Is" - but also be sure not to start looking for it until a few weeks have passed by. On a related topic, if you're not currently reading my Sorrow series, you may want to start soon. Sorrow's next adventure, "Shattered", will go up (hopefully) on Monday, and I've got an Elseworlds Riddler story brewing as well. Thanks for reading!_


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